


Cockscomb

by habenaria_radiata



Series: Dream Eater [3]
Category: Persona 5, Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor
Genre: Alternate Universe - Incubus, Dream Sex, Erotic Flower Consumption, Exhibitionism, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, No Spoilers, Our Incubi Are Different
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22616620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/habenaria_radiata/pseuds/habenaria_radiata
Summary: Shortly after his vow to give virgins a berth wider than the Panama canal, Abel finds himself breaking it when he stumbles upon a breathtaking barista plagued by nightmares.What kind of good samaritan would he be if he chose not to intervene?
Relationships: Akira Kurusu/Kazuya Minegishi
Series: Dream Eater [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1040727
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	Cockscomb

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Cinereous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinereous/profile), [KelpieChaos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpieChaos/profile), and [Foxjar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxjar/profile) for beta-ing.
> 
> Part 3 is a standalone fic, the previous parts aren't necessary to understand this one.

* * *

Abel couldn’t remember the last time he'd let a human see him on purpose. He only tended to fraternize with his own kind if he absolutely had to be doing any fraternizing at all, and every mortal he dealt with was too busy being unconscious to notice he was there. Most of the time, he couldn't remember why it was he so strongly preferred to avoid his sustenance any time they could actually be cognizant of his presence. But then, every so often, in those precious few moments he forgot just enough to give it a shot, the humans were kind enough to remind him that most of them were only tolerable when they were fucking asleep.

The old man beside him had been staring at him openly for the past ten minutes. Abel's fingers tightened around the porcelain rim of his mug, and he set his shoulders in a sharp, resolute line as he focused on glaring at the jars of coffee beans lining the cabinets behind the bar. God, mortals were so fucking annoying. The dude wasn't even trying to be subtle about it. He was swiveled in his bar stool, angled towards his body and boring a hole through him like Abel had grown a pair of titties that were trying to strike up a conversation with him. Geriatric old ass. As if either him or his titties would ever give him the time of day.

Irritation twitched beneath his eye, and he finally jerked his head to the side to meet the man's narrowed gaze. The hell did this fool think he was looking at? He had definitely taken care to ensure that his horns weren’t visible. And he knew they weren’t, because Akira hadn’t reacted like he was anything other than a devilishly handsome mortal when he’d first walked through the front door. So what was this guy’s deal, then? Maybe he fancied himself a demon detector. Or he thought Abel’s devilish handsomeness was a threat. Please, this asshole sagged with eyebags so heavy they'd cost an extra Yukichi to check on a plane, there was no way he thought he could spit any kind of game outside a nursing home.

Abel glowered right back at him. That is, until a tempting idea sat up at the forefront of his mind, and his bright red gaze flickered away to make sure Akira was still busy in the tiny little square of kitchen sequestered behind the bar. Satisfied that he was occupied, Abel whipped back around and unhinged his jaw. An actual snake darted out in place of his tongue, framed by two neat rows of gleaming teeth that would look right at home on a Chain Chomp. If he’d ever heard a more satisfying noise than the pathetically strangled mouse squeak of terror that eked from that crusty windpipe, Abel couldn’t remember it. The old fart collapsed from the bar stool and nearly bulldozed two more of them on his way out the door.

Akira leaned around the corner with a faintly inquisitive look on his face, but Abel was busy popping his jaw back into place. As he caught those velvety grey eyes, however, he shrugged, batting his thick blue eyelashes and smiling for him. "Must have been something I said."

A soft look of amusement replaced the confusion there, and Akira stepped out from the kitchen with a freshly cleaned mug in his hands. "Well. No accounting for taste," he murmured. He adjusted his glasses with an adorable little flicker of his fingers that made Abel want to swoon. "Speaking of which--" Akira nodded, gesturing towards Abel's full mug of coffee with his head. "Is it bad?"

Ugh. Damn. Abel hesitated a few seconds, his eyes dropping to the dark, murky surface. "No way," he said, lifting his head again and smiling with all his perfectly normal teeth in their perfectly human mouth. "Best coffee I ever had." Just to prove as much, Abel lifted the glass, saluting him dramatically and knocking back a huge mouthful. Hot coffee sluiced across his tongue and simmered there behind his closed lips, sloshing between his cheeks. It was kind of upsetting that it really was as delicious as he’d just said. "Mmmm."

On the other side of the counter, Akira shook his head. He was smiling, though, a handsome little quirk of his lips that made Abel’s heart want to do cartwheels. If there was a god, that exquisitely perfect face was proof that he existed -- and if that was true, the fact that this flawless son of man was stuck in some backwater neighborhood slinging coffee to ninety-year-old dirtbags was proof that he was a real asshole. He watched Akira turn away to finish the dishes before he bent in half, spitting the coffee back out into the mug and dumping it into the abandoned cup beside him.

"Ugh. Some people are _so_ rude," he complained loudly, earning a warm chuckle from his companion.

Honestly, Akira probably thought he was the rude one, sitting all up in his cafe with only ten minutes left til closing time. Hopefully his presence was worth it. And also his charm, his face, and his hilarious jokes. And the mad tips he liked to leave. Abel spread his fingers open, and a handful of yen unfolded across his palm like petals opening up to the sun. He stacked them neatly atop the bar, then pushed his knuckle to the edge of the saucer and slid it over to keep the bills in place.

It was probably about time anyway. Twisting in the bar stool, he looked over his shoulder to make sure all the booths at his back were empty. Which they were, as he’d suspected -- it was just him and Akira and Akira's weird cat. He'd heard it scamper up the stairs a little bit ago, so that left only one incubus and one sweet little barista. Abel pressed his elbow to the surface of the bar and bent his arm, snapping his fingers once.

Akira didn't notice the burst of magic at all. He was ever diligent, wiping down the stove at his side and tossing his bangs off his forehead. "We close soon, but you don't have to--" It wasn't until he lifted his head that he realized how alone he suddenly was. A soft frown tugged at his mouth as he approached the bar and leaned forward to see the whole cafe. He got so close he almost headbutted Abel right in the face. "...go. Oh."

Poor thing actually looked disappointed by Abel’s ‘absence’. His shoulders dropped, and he sighed and collected Abel's empty mug and the now-full one left by the old man. "He was right. People are so rude." He sniffed, a cute, irritated little sound that made Abel giggle behind his hand, and he took both mugs to dump into the sink and wash them.

His cell phone was still sitting atop the counter. Abel leaned over and stretched one of his arms, popping his fingertip against the screen until it lit up. Not too long now. He'd only been hanging around Leblanc for a handful of weeks, but he already had Akira's schedule down pretty well. He got up with just enough time to get dressed and eat curry for breakfast, then barrel out the door and disappear until nightfall. It was mostly pretty typical stuff. School, friends, maybe some work at one of his many part-time jobs, then home. The only thing that stood out as odd was that, despite not coming home until after dark, he turned in weirdly early for being a teenager. Plus he tended to complain at his cat for haranguing him to go to bed all the time, which was...interesting. Abel wasn't there to judge, though. Akira could pretend to talk to his cat if he wanted.

He tossed his blue head, cracking his neck with one jerk, then doing the same to the other side while Akira was busy being so industrious. He set the mugs out to dry, finished cleaning the stove, then wiped down the counters behind the bar. Finally, he locked the front door and flipped the sign over to 'closed' two minutes after it was time.

Akira was a really interesting guy. A quiet little worker bee who hid his extremely hot face behind a thick pair of glasses that looked more like birth control than they did a useful accessory. He seemed so inoffensive. He seemed like the kind of kid whose grandma was constantly bragging about how polite he was to every grocery store cashier willing to listen. No one would ever guess that he spent his nights having some of the most bizarre nightmares Abel had ever encountered.

That was what drew him to stay in Yongen-Jaya, in fact. He'd been checking out the apartment near Leblanc when he spotted Akira's dream flower blazing in the night. It was a wonder he even noticed it. The instant he was in that shitty attic leaning over his ‘bed’ of crates, he could see that the flower petals were striped red and a deep, powerfully matte black, sharp lines of chevron splashed across the flesh like someone had painted them there. He'd never seen such an unnatural looking flower before.

Absolutely fascinating. Of course he decided to hang around. Akira was a hard-working kid whose life could only be made worse if he lived in a constant fog of exhaustion. How he got any rest at all with those dreams was a mystery to him, but, fortunately for Akira, it was also a problem he could actually fix.

Abel looked over to see Akira approaching with a rag, and he slid out of the stool to go lounge in a booth instead. It gave Akira room enough to clean the bar without accidentally bumping into someone who wasn't supposed to be there. Surface invisibility could only take you so far, and he wasn't willing to expend the effort to go incorporeal too. This worked well enough. He watched Akira stack the saucers and then hesitate, his pale hand hovering over the fat tip Abel had stashed there. For a split second, he regretted moving. It was impossible to see his face from behind like this.

But he could hear the embarrassed, slightly modest chuckle that left him, and he could see the hand that came up to rub bashfully at the back of his neck. He was so adorable as to give Abel fits. It took him a bit to summon the courage, but Akira finally did fold the stack in half and slide it into his back pocket. Abel nodded his approval and leaned against the table, his bright eyes following Akira as he took the last few dishes to the sink and finished cleaning the bar.

That done, he trudged upstairs to begin his nightly rituals. Abel didn't mind waiting around for him to fall asleep. Leblanc was pretty chill, and he could hear music from the bar nearby. Nice and zen. He was happy to groove to the muffled sounds by himself, rolling his shoulders and humming along. If he had to muster at least one nice thing to say about humans, it would be that their music was absolutely stellar.

The only other sounds in Leblanc were Akira and his cat that chirped back at him like they were having a conversation. So bizarre. Maybe it was some kinda Nadia-type situation. Not his problem, though, and it was probably for the best that he couldn't understand him if the cat was as much of a buzzkill as Akira made him seem. He drummed his fingers to the beat and kept only half an ear out for Akira changing into his adorably dorky PJs and climbing down the creaking stairs to brush his teeth and wash his face.

He was so curious to know Akira's deal. His dreams were insanely vivid; Abel had eaten LSD trips that were less interesting. And everyone he dreamed about was so _clear_ , not the slightly blurry, changeable faces of the constructs that other people's brains tended to conjure in the night. It was usually fairly obvious when someone was dreaming about a real person or not, and those two mean little lolis in ugly shorts definitely struck him as real -- for all that they were too absurd to be.

Abel was fascinated by him and the many strange flowers that bloomed from the center of his forehead every night. He'd been goddamned delighted the first time Akira produced a blue flower, then promptly horrified when he'd bitten down on a petal to taste the acrid bite of metal chains and overwhelming despair. It couldn't have tasted more like iron if he'd tried to eat an old railroad spike glazed with blood.

He'd never had a bad blue flower in his entire life. What the hell had happened to this poor kid that he learned to associate blue with such fear and dread?

Fortunately, it had only happened the once so far. Abel had been way too intrigued not to spy on it, so he’d dropped in to see the funky blue prison for himself. Those little girls were a fucking trip, and the flower had been so revolting he’d simply reached up and yanked it straight off his forehead until the petals withered between his fingers. It was better just to give him a new dream entirely than to even attempt to salvage that mess. He wouldn’t deign to do such a thing for anyone else on earth, but Akira was worth every drop of magic it demanded.

Maybe he would have better luck tonight. Abel gave it a good half-hour before he thrust his arms up overhead, popping his back loudly and hopping out of the booth to ascend the stairs. The whole cafe was bathed in darkness, but it wasn't like he needed anything to see by. There was a soft pink light pulsing gently in the inky black, and that was all he needed to navigate.

Pink! He'd never seen Akira with a pink flower before. How cute! Maybe he was dreaming about someone he was sweet on, which would be as exciting as it would be super disappointing. He'd depleted an awful lot of magic trying to manage Akira's shitty dreams. A natural sinflower would be enormously helpful to get some of it back, but at the same time, the thought of Akira having sexy dreams about someone else annoyed the shit out of him. Quite a dilemma.

One that proved to be not much of dilemma when he reached the edge of the bed to see that the pink flower was coming off the fucking cat. A slow, powerful scowl scrunched his sharp features together, and he stood over Morgana with his hands propped on his hips. Akira sleeping with this cat every night was really starting to task him. An irritated sigh burst from between his lips. He scrubbed a hand against his face before he let them both drop, magic slithering down to burn at the tips of his fingers. He lifted Morgana up into his palms and took him to the desk nearby, placing him on top of Akira's school bag and leaving him there. That petite little flower swayed delicately as if to entice him, but Abel grimaced and ignored it. Whatever the hell cats had erotic dreams about, he was not the least bit interested in knowing about it.

Morgana safely dealt with, Abel climbed into the bed, straddling Akira’s bony hips in one smooth motion and peering down at his face. The light from the window spilled across his skin, casting shadows from the soft fringe of his eyelashes. He was so damned pretty. And he was a back sleeper. Could he be any more perfect? Well, he could. He could sleep naked. But that was neither here nor there.

He pinched a lock of Akira's black curls that draped adorably over the bridge of his nose. It slid like wet silk between the pads of his fingers. Abel was not surprised whatsoever that Akira was surrounded by attractive boys and girls his age, but it did surprise him that he'd never taken any of them to his room before. From what he had seen, they all harbored at least some level of thirst for their intrepid leader, even that obnoxious blond kid who was never taught what an indoor voice was. If Akira reciprocated any of their feelings, he was remarkably good at hiding it. Abel couldn’t help but think it was more likely that he just didn’t. In fact, he seemed almost lonely. Why else would he be that excited to see Abel drop in to Leblanc? Oh, right. The tips.

Smoothing the curly hair back from his forehead, Abel got comfortable on his stomach, his eyes intent on Akira's slack brow. "Come on, cute stuff. Let's see it. Don't be shy."

It might have been a little premature on his part, if Akira were anyone else, but he'd noticed the boy tended to hit his REM cycle a lot faster than most other humans. Whatever he did during the day knocked his ass flat. Which suited his purposes, so Abel was hardly complaining. He watched with ill-hidden hunger on his face as a strange shape pushed up between Akira's closed eyes. Odd. It reminded him of a bamboo shoot. But then the blossom twitched there, and it burst open like a poofy Victorian petticoat exploding out of a vacuum-sealed bag.

Abel blinked and tilted back from it, cocking his head. He'd never seen a flower quite like that off a human, but he had come across one out in the wild -- literally. Cockscomb. He hadn’t realized how much they resembled a brain before. A big, curly brain that he would find ever so slightly unappetizing if it weren’t smoldering as brilliantly red as maple leaves.

 _Red_. If there was one color that was consistently positive for Akira, it was red. Even that first flower he'd seen, streaked through with black, couldn't be unambiguously categorized as a nightmare. He could remember that flower as clearly as if he were still staring at it. Its petals were thin and jagged, erupting from his forehead in visual defiance. If that blue flower had been like trying to lick the charred insides of a grill, the first one was like trying to eat the fire itself.

His mouth had burned with smoke and pepper and something like tobacco. It smelled like incense and tasted of hellfire spiked with brief, overpowering surges of the world's coldest, sourest lemon. The dream itself was just as confusing. Akira was running around some crazy underground subway, killing monsters and being chased in turn. It straddled the divide between 'cool dream' and 'scary nightmare' so well it made perfect sense that his flower was equally unsure which one it was meant to taste like.

This one, though. Abel leaned forward, spreading one hand against the bedding between Akira's ribs and his bicep. This flower was pure, sultry red, the light pulsing brightly and beckoning him with the soft furls of its petals. It looked goddamned delicious.

There was just one thing standing between him and his meal. How the _fuck_ was he supposed to eat it? It didn't really have the kind of petals he was accustomed to. It reminded him more of tightly gathered velvet than it did a flower. Squinting at it, Abel lowered his face until his nose was nearly buried in the complicated folds of glowing red flesh. Was he supposed to bite into it and suck it up like one long spaghetti noodle? Great. Very sexy.

The bridge of his nose wrinkled, and he sat up straighter again and twisted an arm behind him to rub at the small of his back. Hmm. This would pose an interesting challenge. It looked like it would be easiest to just eat the thing whole, but that would almost certainly wake him up. Trying to keep a person asleep and eat their dream at the same time was close to impossible.

Abel snorted. He hadn’t had the pleasure of more than a scant few of his good dreams, but he’d sat through enough of them to recognize that Akira’s drug of choice was adrenaline. Of _course_ a thrill seeker like him would produce a ridiculously alluring sinflower that proved risky to try and actually eat. What a punk.

A fond sort of smirk overtook him, and Abel shook his head and patted Akira's cheek. "You're lucky you're so cute, or I'd be mad." He was going to have to work to earn his meal tonight, but he was up for that. He wriggled on Akira's lap and shifted when he bumped backwards into something hard that made his stomach jolt. Abel blinked, then craned his neck to peek over his shoulder. Akira was poking him with a boner! He wouldn’t have ventured to presume what his dream was about, but now he had a pretty damn good guess.

Fuck. Now he wanted to know. Fretting, Abel glanced from the bulge in his thick pajama pants back up to Akira's sleeping face and his flower that undulated on a nonexistent seafloor. His food would have to wait. Akira was having a really good wet dream about someone, and he was desperate to know who. Just because he was curious, not so he could give them unspeakable nightmares and maybe draw a dick on their face while they were asleep.

Screw it. Both his hands came up to clutch Akira's cheeks, and he swan dove right down into his dream.

This wouldn't be the first time Abel had done this, so it was easy to reorient himself to Akira's body. It really was absurd how flawless Akira was to him. Most people were too big, or too small, but his body was a perfect fit. If he was a glass slipper, then by god, Abel was Cinderella. But it was hard to concentrate when he dropped in to feel the immediate sensation of motion, his right arm pumping hard and some kind of thick rope digging into his back.

Arousal hit like a punch to the gut. His eyes snapped open, and he jerked against whatever it was he was leaning on. Everything was so bright it was damn near blinding. Anything not plated gold was either neon or rainbow or both at the same time. Talk about visual overload. He couldn't focus on any one thing with so much else warring for his attention. A thousand voices crashed over him with the force of an ocean wave. Something plastic was raining down over him, brushing against the curly ends of his hair and even the shell of his ear. One of them landed upright and balanced over his knee. Playing cards...? Were they in some kind of super extra casino?

Against his will, his neck bent forward, shocking Abel into breathlessness. Akira's pants were undone, and bright red fingers were wrapped around the length of his flushed cock.

Akira arched his back into an almost lazy curve. The shift of his legs was enough to send them swaying lightly, one of them lifting higher and the other straightening out before him. He finally realized that it was a metal cable against his spine, and they were suspended in the air with nothing holding them up but a thin sheet of pink glass.

Those red fingers squeezed tighter. Their breath hitched as one, Akira's dark head tilting back against the cable and his legs opening wider. His head rolled down until his chin brushed against his shoulder, and he watched the sea of faceless people down below him. The casino was so packed he couldn't even see the floor.

Before he was afforded the chance to wonder where the hell the other star of this sex dream was, Akira shot forward, his body coiling like a snake. With both knees spread and one crimson hand splayed across the glass, they both stared down into the crowd. Arousal choked him so thoroughly that his vision clouded, and his cock was so hot he could feel it burn through the leather of his glove.

He sat upright, his spine bending and his arm darting out to grasp a different cable. The platform teetered dangerously beneath them, but that only seemed to turn him on more. Flexing his fingers once, he smirked and began moving his arm again, stroking his erection with wild abandon.

Abel pitched backwards so hard he emerged from the dream with a subtle pop of magic, his eyes open wide and both his hands pressed to his mouth to catch the schoolmarm-worthy gasp that left him. For most people, that dream would be a fucking nightmare. Dangling in the air, his dick out in the open, and a whole crowd of witnesses? A lesser man would be thrashing in their bed. Their flower would probably taste like Red Hots filled with fire ants. But Akira was _into_ it.

He _liked_ having an audience.

This little tart was an exhibitionist.

As his hands dropped away, Abel shook his head, his heart still racing and an extremely aggressive boner digging into the seam of his pants. "Akira! You're such a bad kid," he whispered to his sleeping face.

After so many weeks of feasting on all his dreams, Abel had finally discovered the truth. This innocent-looking ingenu was secretly a kinky bastard who craved nothing more than to be looked at. He was so in love.

Both hands cradling Akira's smooth face tipped it, coaxing his head back. The way his sinflower rustled reminded him of the swish of a skirt. If this flower tasted half as good as his dream, he was going to be bursting with magic for days. Desire flooded his mouth. Abel bit down into the very edge of it and sucked, drawing the severed furl in between his lips until it tore at the base and sprang over his tongue like an orange twist.

Nectar seeped from the broken skin. It was exactly as phenomenal as he'd hoped it would be. It tasted like every romantic trapping that had ever been associated with sex. It tasted like pining and arousal and expensive wine and every piece of candy handed over in the name of getting laid. It tasted the way roses looked.

It tasted like _red_.

Abel swallowed and gasped for air, all four of his limbs quaking violently enough the crates creaked beneath him. Magic oozed through his veins, thick and unhurried as honey, more of it than there was of him to contain it all. He reached up and pinched the ragged edge of cockscomb between his fingertips, relishing in the anticipation that seized every muscle of his back.

It was easily the most sensual flower he'd ever enjoyed. Every single aspect of it screamed sexuality, from its taste to its color to its texture of plush silk sheets trimmed with velvet. It might be more on the nose if it was shaped like a big dick, but they did say that the largest erogenous zone was the brain, so he could still make a case for its appearance.

Abel tugged, ripping another coil free. Even the way its flesh tore sounded like the glide of a zipper coming undone.

He rubbed the torn ruffle along the pads of his fingers and watched his skin grow slick. It was thicker than it looked like it ought to be, despite breaking between his teeth as easily as a chocolate shell. He slid it into his mouth, fingers and all, sucking the sweet juice from his own skin. The nectar rolled across his tongue like the inside of a cherry cordial. Abel rather liked that he was so far from vanilla, even his dreams tasted like chocolate.

This was going to be the most intense test of self-control he'd ever had to undergo. His insides quivered with the desire to pluck the fragile blossom and devour it whole. His mouth felt empty without the weight of velvet on his tongue and brushing the backs of his teeth. If he didn't slow down, he was liable to wake Akira up, but the very idea of stopping seemed too herculean a task to attempt.

He took a deep, shaky breath and stilled his arm, his hand poised over the tattered edge of 'petal' right as he froze in place. His eyes widened. His fingers twitched. In the very center of the flower's head, a single curl burned bright blue.

 _No_.

Panic unspooled through his insides, weaving and knotting throughout his gut as effectively as kudzu vines. That invasive, unwanted blue followed suit, inchworming its way through the folds. No. No! Why was his dream changing?!

Did someone barge in and ruin it? Did that annoying student council kid waltz in and lecture him about the indecencies of jerking off in public until his boner wilted? Did those ugly lolis show up? Maybe he could fix it before the whole flower was poisoned. The change was gradual enough -- surely it was salvageable.

Tightening his jaw, Abel grasped Akira's face again and sank back into his dream-cum-burgeoning-nightmare. Not on his fucking watch.

As his eyes flickered open, Abel could only glance around in confusion. The dream was almost exactly like he'd left it. Akira was splayed on his back with all the propriety of a porn star, the tails of his jacket spread and his knees opened up in a perfect frame for the hand still stroking at his cock. Half his face was obscured by a pretty white mask, but even then, he’d never looked more beautiful than he did twisted in pleasure.

It took entirely too long to occur to Abel why that was so jarring. He'd never manifested in someone's dream _outside_ their body before.

Damn, was Akira's exhibitionism so strong that his mind shunted him into the role of invisible observer? As unusual and alarming as it was, he was hardly going to complain about such a choice view. Like this, he could finally get a look at that peculiar outfit Akira wore in a good number of his dreams. That jacket was to die for. His vest curved along his ribs like thin fingers, and his pointy boots were so cute. He was somehow more sexy almost fully dressed than most people were naked.

That really wasn't helping his boner, though. He could feel it both in the dream and the real world, his arousal insistent enough that he was willing to give himself a pass for taking too long to notice a whole POV shift. He swallowed and flexed his fingers, his gaze dropping to his lap where he tried hard not to cop a squeeze.

"Abel?!"

Shock stabbed straight through to his spine. He lifted his head up to see Akira doing the same, staring back at him with wide grey eyes. He scrambled up to his elbow and shoved the mask up over his forehead.

Akira could...see him?

Both his hands flattened against his stomach and chest, groping at himself as if he might not actually be there. He _shouldn't_ be there. He should be in Akira's head! No one should ever be able to recognize when he was invading their dreams!

But he was there. Physically. He wasn't inside Akira's body because he was in his own, his back against the cable opposite Akira and his legs curled over that flimsy, rosé-colored glass. And Akira was looking at him. He was staring at him and twisting his body to get up to his knees and close the distance between them.

His heart slammed into his ribs so hard someone may as well have tried to defibrillate him with Mjölnir. Oh god. Oh god. No wonder the flower was turning blue. What the fuck was he going to do?

"A- Akira, I-"

As far as being silenced went, a kiss was pretty effective. His head knocked back against the thick cable as Akira sealed their mouths together, his gloved fingers grasping at Abel's jaw. He blinked like a moron, his hands frozen against the black leather jacket beneath them. No way this was happening. For a split second, Abel was convinced he was the one having his dreams twisted by a fellow incubus. Why else would this adorable, secretly-kinky mortal boy dream about making out with him? As far as he knew, Abel was just some random citizen who liked coffee and making him laugh and staring at his magnificent ass.

And yet.

He remained in a daze as Akira broke the kiss, breathing hard against his mouth and tilting his head down. "Got tired of waiting for you to ask me out," he murmured.

The ice sitting in his stomach gave way to a veritable inferno that flared up to lick the bottom of his ribcage. This really must be his own dream. It was too absurd to think that Akira wanted him there. That he wanted Abel to ask him out. Wasn’t it?

Akira was the first mortal he'd shown himself to in years. He wasn't here because he'd fucked something up, or let his own desires get the better of him. Akira could see him because he was dreaming of him.

No one had _ever_ dreamed about him before.

Abel huffed back at him, his eyes weirdly hot and wet and his fingers flexing against the thick leather of Akira's coat. "Well, then. Sorry to keep you in suspense, delinquent."

A smooth, foxy smirk of a smile drew Akira's lips back. It was the only form of warning he got before he found himself tossed down onto the glass so hard they swung in a huge circle. Abel threw his arm around Akira and grabbed onto a cable for dear fucking life, but it soon became evident that only one of them had any fear of gravity at all. And it was the one of them who knew it was a dream.

Annoyed at himself, Abel scowled and let go of the cool metal in favor of grasping Akira's curls. If he was going to have the privilege of being in the sexiest dream Akira had ever had, the least he could do was meet him in his uncompromising fearlessness. He lifted his head up enough to capture his lips in another hungry kiss.

Akira seemed to approve, if the moan vibrating against his mouth was any indication. He kept Abel pinned to the glass, the both of them still spinning in a dizzying circle. It was nice to know dream sex was still surreal even when you were totally lucid. Cracking one red eye open, he tilted his head and peeked down to see that the murmuring crowd was focused entirely on them, their necks craned and their attention totally unwavering as they pointed up and murmured amongst themselves.

And Akira lived for it. He tugged away from Abel's mouth and pushed him onto his side, wedging his chin over his shoulder and reaching around to grip his abdomen. "I bet they like you as much as I do."

He could not resist the scoff that left him. "Oh, I doubt that. I'm an acquired taste. Besides, I'm much more interested in you."

He spun around and, before Akira could stop him, slung his leg over his hip to push him flat on his back. The first touch to his bare cock coaxed an earth-shattering moan out of Akira, his head tilting back and exposing his beautiful throat.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he had nothing more than someone's reactions to go by. It was surprisingly nerve wracking. He was so accustomed to sharing feelings and sensations, all passive and perfectly safe, and now he was expected to be an active participant. Now, if he fucked it up, he could ruin Akira's dream by his own hand. Quite literally, in this case.

That wasn't to say he seemed to be doing that. Abel's fingers tightened to draw another breathy sigh out of the sultry phantom thief stretched out beside him. For about the sixth time that night, he was struck dumb by how beautiful this boy was. It should be a federal crime to be as sexy as he was adorable. Such multitudes Akira contained.

Slithering on top of him, he dragged his teeth along the smooth curve of Akira's jaw, both his hands gliding across the red palms resting loosely against the glass. Akira had manifested in this exact outfit so many times that he had to assume it was real in some fashion. He hoped those gloves felt as good as they did in his dreams. Each of his fingers slid between Akira's own and squeezed, his lips following the path from his jaw up to the delicate lobe of his ear.

He was consumed by his desire to kiss every inch of him, but he wasn't so far gone that his clothes disappeared without catching his attention. Cold air biting at his bare ass surprised him so much that both his legs shot up, an almost girlish squeal disappearing into Akira's smirking mouth. God, when was the last time he'd been on the receiving end of dream logic?

Still, it was flattering Akira even wanted him naked at all. As he should. Abel had a fantastic body, thanks very much, presuming that one was into bony twinks. Akira certainly seemed to be. That brief moment of distraction was enough that he recaptured the reins, rolling out from under him and trapping Abel beneath his heavier body once again. Fuck, that glass was cold on his naked back.

But it was remarkable how much less pressing the cold could be when the body above him was blazing hot. Even through all the layers he wore, the heat rolling off his skin warmed Abel right up, especially from his cock. With his lips buried in the side of his throat, Akira rocked against him, and he could feel every inch of the sordid drag of one erection against another.

Abel hissed into his ear, the edges of his fingernails biting half-moons into the leather. "Fuck, Akira."

He wasn't expecting him to react by falling still above him, but that was precisely what Akira did. Bright red fingers spread along the glass, supporting the majority of his weight as he lifted up enough to bear down over him. Abel sucked in a sharp breath and held it there, his chest straining a bit and his eyes caught fast by Akira's gaze.

Abel had never seen him look more predatory. The holes of his mask cast shadows over his eyes, obscuring the dark, sultry grey of his irises until they glistened beneath his eyelashes like licorice. "Joker will do," he whispered. Then he smiled and grabbed Abel's thin wrist, bringing it up to his lips and kissing the inside of it.

This fucking guy. The oxygen rushed out of him in a burst, leaving his chest to heave as if one of his handmaidens had laced his corset too tight. This must be how the vapors felt. This must be what it was like to need a fainting couch. Abel swallowed so hard he could feel the bob of his own Adam's apple. "Joker it is."

Abel didn't need to be sharing Joker's body to know how much he approved of that response; that adorably smug look on his face was indication enough. He bent his neck again, his dark eyes sliding shut and the bottoms of his thick eyelashes brushing against the edge of his mask. His lips were as soft as the petals of his sinflower.

Oh shit. His sinflower. Abel's own eyes flashed open, and he tilted his head as much as he could without breaking the kiss. Akira seemed like he was having the time of his life. He wasn't upset at all, and as far as he could tell, Abel's presence was the only change. So why the blue?

Bit by bit, Abel rocked against the glass, squirming towards the end of it to try and see if anyone in the crowd didn't belong. It was a bit of a task to make out with him and try to see what the hell was wrong with his dream at the same time, but he tried his damndest.

Nothing.

Reluctance sat like a stone in his gut, his desire to stay here and give Akira a shattering orgasm butting right up against his need to finish his meal. He was still hungry, despite having enough magic swirling in him to light up the entire goddamned island.

Fuck it. Even without him there to pilot his own body, Akira's brain would do the work. He forced himself free and jerked upright as he tried to coax sensation back into his physical self. Eugh, only two seconds in and he already wanted to go back to fucking Akira in a fake casino. His erection was agonizing, but at least in the dream he could trick it into thinking he was trying to do something about it.

It soon ceased to be an issue. As Abel's eyes opened to the dark, dust-coated attic, his stomach dropped so hard that his arousal dried up in an instant. A halo of vibrant blue taunted him, bleeding into a soft purple. Only the faintest embers of red burned at the very tips of his half-eaten cockscomb.

Had his presence alone been enough to taint the whole blossom? Akira hadn't tried to throw him off the platform or told him to fuck off, so what gave?! He sagged forward in his lap, both his hands clawing against his chest and his head dipping low. Annoyed, he reached up and flicked away the bangs dripping down in front of his eyes.

Then he paused. His eyes started to cross in the attempt to stare at his own hair, but he soon shifted his attention to the flower. Slowly, Abel reached for it, two of his fingers extending and closing around one of the folds in the very center. He plucked it away with surgical precision and brought it up to his mouth, hesitating several seconds before he shoved it between his lips and bit down.

It was sweet. The heavier decadence of dark chocolate had softened into whatever this was, something milkier and light with an aftertaste of lavender.

It was _good_.

If that first flower tasted of yen-flavored roses, this one tasted like hand-picked garden flowers. It wasn't chocolate-covered strawberries, but it was homemade candies for White Day. It was somehow....better.

It was. It was better, and he wanted the rest of it, and he was so ravenously hungry that he was desperate to sink his teeth into it and feel its flesh shred between them. Abel grasped Akira's sleeping face and kept his head steady as he relished in the sound of the soft moan that filtered out of him. He was so into his dreams that his hips shuffled with sufficient force to lift Abel up off the bed, and his fingers twitched against his comforter.

A rush of affection gripped Abel's chest. The hands on Akira’s face slid back, his thumbs coming to rest just beneath his ears and his lips moving to kiss his sleep-warmed cheek. Much as he wanted to spend the rest of the night doting on this boy, the temptation was too much for him to neglect the flower for long. He rushed back up to tear another furl off and let it spiral over his tongue. Heat flooded down his arms and legs. His toes curled. Even his tail twisted tighter, corkscrewing behind him and vibrating in pleasure.

How that flower could go from erotic back to innocent was completely and utterly beyond him. It was always the other way. The corruption of innocence was delicious. That didn't happen in _reverse_. Unless you were Akira, evidently. His sultry red flower went from tasting like sex to tasting like a very first kiss. Something soft and fragile and ephemeral. It tasted like a stolen moment of time. It tasted like the past brought to life.

It tasted like being human again.

His heart trembled so much it would be pathetic if he didn't like the way it felt. His thumbs rolled circles just beneath Akira's earlobes, in that tender nexus between jaw and skull. He flattened further against his torso and curled his tongue to catch the thick drops of nectar that wept from broken skin.

Hearing Akira's breath was icing on the proverbial cake. He was just as warm in reality as he was in his dream, the shifts of his body accompanied by the groans of his shitty crate bed and his hands twitching loosely at Abel's hips. It was like he'd never left the dream at all. Silky curls coiled around the tips of his fingers. His body throbbed with every fresh wave of magic that surged through it. His mouth tingled each time another piece of sinflower graced it.

Akira's hips snapped up between his thighs, lifting him so high he scrambled to plant his hands to the bed and keep himself upright. The fingers clawing stripes into his hips went slack again, and Abel realized that the front of his pants was wet.

As he sat upright, he blinked several times. Akira was doing the same, his eyelids heavy and sleepy, adorable confusion on his face. "Abel...?"

The remainder of the cockscomb was sitting on his tongue.

Fuck.

Before he could make himself invisible in a panic, Akira was up on his elbows. He tilted his head and pressed a slow, dozy kiss to his mouth, then pulled away. He blinked again, a lazy thing that belied how little he trusted his own eyes in that moment. "Am I dreaming?"

His heart beat a harsh rhythm against his ribs. He almost couldn't hear Akira at all, the blood was rushing so loudly in his ears. It was a struggle to swallow the last of the sinflower. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, you are."

Gently, he coaxed Akira back down onto the bed, his fingers sifting through his mussed hair. He was so pliant in his half-awake state that he allowed Abel to tuck him back under his blankets without also noticing he used his magic to clean up his orgasm. "'mhaving lots of good dreams tonight," he mumbled, his eyes already shut.

Abel paused there and bit his lip. "Yeah? You deserve to have good dreams." He leaned forward and kissed his forehead. Without the light of the sinflower, his attic was lit up only by the distant light of a street lamp. "Go have some more. Good night, delinquent."

More magic seeped into his fingertips, and he passed them over Akira's closed eyelids. His body went slack immediately, sleep rising up to claim him once more.

For ages, he stared down at him, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of Akira’s chest. He'd never felt like an asshole when he left one of his 'meals' before. It was monstrously difficult to tear himself away from his bed that night when it felt so much like hitting and quitting it. If there was one person on earth who didn't deserve that, it was Akira Kurusu.

But needs must. It wouldn't be so easy to pass his presence off as a dream a second time. Eventually, Abel sighed and brushed his knuckles along Akira's slack face. "Sweet dreams," he whispered.

It must have been his imagination that Akira smiled.

He was still supposed to be asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> can you believe that erotic dream flowers aren't the hot next AU?
> 
> come find me on Twitter @rad_iata or Tumblr at habenaria-radiata and we can gossip about everyone's sinflowers


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